


to love what is mortal

by fallingthroughspacex



Series: and the light is with them [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (for now) (or so everyone thinks), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Captain America AU, Clarke IS Captain America, Gen, Grieving, MCU AU, Past Character Death, Trauma, altered mcu timeline, and the SPACE TO PROCESS COMPLEX EMOTIONS, bellamy is bucky, it's about the GROWTH, lexa is peggy, lincoln is sam wilson, murphy is nat, processing emotions, raven is tony stark, series will have a happy ending, uhhh bellamy is dead in this one, welcome to the twenty-first century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthroughspacex/pseuds/fallingthroughspacex
Summary: Clarke Griffin loses her best friend, crashes a plane into the arctic, helps win a war, and wakes up 70 years later-- all within two weeks. She's got some adjusting to do.OR: the one where Clarke is Captain America.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy, Clarke Griffin & Lincoln, Clarke Griffin & Madi, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes, Costia/Lexa (mentioned), Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake & Madi, past Clarke Griffin/Lexa - Relationship, pre Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: and the light is with them [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790581
Comments: 48
Kudos: 103





	1. to live in this world

**Author's Note:**

> for court and essie, my cheerleaders on this fic.  
> if you're an mcu fan, note that I'm altering the timeline a bit. clarke meets lincoln (aka sam wilson) BEFORE the events of the avengers, which this fic Will cover; this fic starts in 2011. if you have any continuity or other questions, just lemme know!  
> if you haven't seen captain america: the first avenger, I strongly recommend it; not only is it a fantastic movie, but it will also make this fic a whole lot easier to understand, as it picks up following the end of the movie & heavily references events and people from it.  
> tw in this chapter for grieving, mentions of nightmares, description of anxiety attacks, discussion of trauma / mental health. if you want more details, feel free to dm me<3

Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

_“Well, do you at least get to keep the uniform?”_

Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

_“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, princess.”_

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

_“I thought you were shorter.”_

Left. 

_“C’mon, Clarke. I’m with you til the end of the line. You know that.”_

Right. 

_“102_ _nd_ _ships to England first thing tomorrow… this is my last night.”_

Left. 

_“Nah, no dates. Just me and my two favorite girls, yeah? C’mon, O’s meeting us at 6. We’re going to the future.”_

Right, feet slapping pavement, a steady rhythm juxtaposed with her wild heartbeat.

Left, and exhale hard, her breath clouding in the cold and misty DC morning.

Right, and not quite morning, actually-- though almost there, as the beginnings of the sunrise began to peek out from the horizon behind one of the countless historical monuments she found her solace in. 

Left, because they more than anyone could understand what it was like to blink and wake up in a new century. Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Clarke Griffin. National Treasures, frozen in time. 

Right, feet slowing to a jog as she completed her… twentieth…? lap around the Mall. 

Left, and it hadn’t done what she wanted it to-- couldn’t drown out the nightmares and the cold sweats ( _“also an oxymoron-”,_ her mind unhelpfully provided) and the memories, the memories, the memories threatening to drown her, but then again, if the Arctic couldn’t, she supposed neither could her mind.

Right, but. But. 

Left, collapse onto a bench, not because her muscles are aching-- she’s not sure they can, anymore, not enough to stop her, not enough to slow her mind-- but because her heart is.

“Dammit, Bellamy,” she whispered into the end of the night, eyes pressed tightly as she tried fruitlessly to slow her breathing. 

Inhale. She’s in the twenty-first century, Washington, DC.

Exhale. The war is over. They won. 

Inhale. Crashing the Valkyrie worked. It stopped the bombs, the millions of deaths.

Exhale. She’s alive.

Inhale. So many aren’t. Not most of her team-- Miller, Indra, _Bellamy_ . Lexa was still alive, thank god, and living in a lovely house in DC with her _wife_ but… every time Clarke walked in, it was as if she was just finding out they had pulled her out of the ice. 

Exhale. They never got that dance. 

Inhale. Lexa was battling different different demons now. 

Exhale. Someone was coming. 

She whipped around, eyes wide, automatically jumping to her feet and moving into some semblance of a fight-ready stance; her eyes met kind, brown ones as the man held up his hands to show he was unarmed. 

“Whoa, easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothed, approaching slowly as one might approach a wounded animal. She didn’t relax. “My name is Lincoln, can I sit with you for a moment?” Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded, sitting back down, almost curled into herself. She began to register feelings-- tears on her face, the tightness in her chest. The fact that she was breathing far quicker than was warranted for the situation. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she choked out a laugh. He shook his head. “Sorry. Dumb question. Listen, it looked like you were upset, I’m a counselor, can you take a deep breath for me?” Shakily, she inhales and nods, gripping the edge of the bench with her hands, her knuckles turn white. He sat on the other side of the bench, talking her through a breathing exercise until finally, finally, both seconds and hours (but likely just minutes) later, she let go of the bench, sitting against the railing and pulling her knees to her chest. She took a moment to look at Lincoln, taking in his welcoming, open stance, his muscled physique, his tattoos-- on his head, arms, everywhere. Her eyes landed on one in particular-- one that looked a little bit like one of hers-- and flickered up to his. 

“Military?” she asked, voice a bit raspy. 

He nodded. “Air Force. Pararescue. You?”

She mouthed the words, remembering that a new branch had been established two years after her crash. Lincoln looked at her, curious, but didn’t remark on her pause before she spoke. “Army. 102nd division.” It wasn’t technically true, but may as well have been; her whole team was from the 102nd. ( _Bellamy was from the 102nd_ , her mind provided, and she drew into herself a little further.)

Lincoln’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. “What’s your name?”

“Clarke. Clarke Gr- Grimm,” she changed course at the last second, remembering that she was meant to be staying anonymous; while it wasn’t very subtle and wouldn’t hold up under much scrutiny, it was better than just spilling her name, _Captain America’s name_. If Lincoln noticed, he didn’t comment on that, though she suspected he didn’t miss much.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” he said casually, pulling one knee to his chest, not quite mirroring her. “Was that your first anxiety attack?”

The words spilled from her lips before she thought them through. “I don’t-- it’s not that. It’s just--” _shellshock_ , her mind provided, but she knew that could easily give her away. Jaha’s (SHIELD’s, she reminded herself) therapists had told her that much. So she fell silent.

“Just what?” Lincoln prodded gently. “I’m not going to make you talk, Clarke. But from one vet to another… holding it in doesn’t help. I’ll keep your secrets, if that’s what they are.” His lips quirked upwards. “Legally, I have to. So, Clarke, if you’d like someone to talk to... “ he shrugged. “Just what?”

She paused for a moment, considering, before speaking haltingly-- changing her story to be less classified as she spoke.

“My best friend in the world… died. On a mission, one I was leading. I couldn’t do anything-- didn’t save him. I watched him fall. And then-- just a few weeks later-- my team, our mission… was reaching the endgame. Things didn’t go as planned, let’s put it that way. I had to… had to make the sacrifice play. I wasn’t expecting to ever wake up. But I did. In a strange place. And I was told it had been almost seven… seven years. That was two weeks ago. In the span of a month, I lost… everything. Everyone. My team was disbanded; some retired early, some were killed on other missions, some are just… in the wind. And the- the person I was… sort of seeing…” she closed her eyes, fighting back tears. “We never really got a chance. When I woke up, they’d long since moved on. No one else thought I’d ever wake up either, apparently.” A short humorless laugh. “To me, it hasn’t even been a month. Since everything fell apart. It’s… The concept of even _living_ is one that doesn’t make sense to me, right now. Not-- not that, not suicide, just-- I can’t even fathom. What does life look like for me now? I can’t… I can’t picture it.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket, wiping snot and tears. She shook her head, almost laughing, though nothing was funny. Maybe because nothing was funny. “I’m sorry. That was… a lot, I know. If you walked away now, I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice was almost wistful, though-- this being the first real conversation she had had in, god, nearly seventy years. 

Lincoln made no move to leave, and she was grateful. “Y’know, I’ve heard a lot of stories. About a lot of shitty things. Not gonna lie, that’s pretty far up there. But… I’ll be honest. You seem like a fighter. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I have a feeling you’ll be alright. The trauma you’ve endured is real, and valid, and it won’t go away. But it’ll get lighter, and that weight? On your chest?” He tapped his with two fingers; she subconsciously mirrored him, hand drifting to where she felt as if a massive stone was on her, squeezing her lungs from all directions everytime she let herself _think_ about anything real. “That gets lighter too.”

Clarke smiled; just a small one, a quirk of her lips, really, but perhaps realer than any she could remember ever since she woke up. “Thank you, Lincoln,” she whispered, reaching out; he met her halfway, squeezing her hand once before letting go. 

“Anytime, Grimm,” he replied easily. “In fact, what do you have going on today?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “I’m way ahead of schedule for PT, as you can probably guess,” she waved her hand, indicating the laps she had been running. “So-- just more reading, trying to catch up, I guess.” 

“Nah,” he decided, a warm glint in his eyes. “First we’re getting breakfast-- you must be starving after that run, how many laps did you even _do_ \-- and then I’m gonna help catch you up to 2011. What do you say?”

Her smile widened. “I’m in,” she said. He stood, and offered her his hand to pull her up, but she waved him off. 

He looked at her, considering. “Maybe you’ll even tell me your real last name,” 

Her eyes widened, caught in the lie, but she found herself wanting to trust him. A voice in her head that sounded a little bit like Bellamy told her she could. So she did. 

“Promise you won’t freak out, and won’t run and tell the presses?”

His eyes narrowed a bit, trying to figure out what could be so major, but he paused. “Got a dollar?” 

She shook her head, confused. “Sorry, what? Why?”

He shrugged. “If you give me a dollar, technically you’ve hired me, and then I’m legally bound to keep your secrets. I mean, I would anyways, but if it’ll make you feel better…” She furrowed her eyebrows, but pulled out the small wallet she had in a side pocket of her leggings. Suddenly wanting to mess with him a little bit, she held out a dollar bill, face completely serious. 

“One dollar for the safety and security of the free world. You sure you want in?” she said solemnly. He raised an eyebrow and took the dollar bill, sticking it in his pocket. 

“I mean, breakfast can be on you, too, if you want.” 

It caught her by surprise, and she laughed, openly before clapping a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. But Lincoln caught her hand before she could. 

“Don’t. Want my advice? You have to take the joy when it comes. One day, one step, one breath at a time. Yeah?” He let go of her hand, and it fell to her side, a hint of a smile left on her face.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, as they began to walk away from the monuments. “So, have you ever heard of Captain America?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? Who hasn’t? Tiny blonde badass from Brooklyn turns into a superhero and helps beat the Nazis before mysteriously disappearing…” he trailed off, seeing her smirk. “No way. You’re kidding me.”

She shakes her head, laughing slightly at how wide his eyes had gotten. “No, you’ve got it in one. Captain Clarke Griffin, nice to meet you.” She held out her hand and he shook it, still slightly shocked. 

“Airman First Class Lincoln Woods. So-- almost seven years..?”

“66, actually,” she confirmed.

“Well, damn,” he said, eyebrows raised as he saw the woman next to him in a whole new light. “You’re definitely buying breakfast, then. What kind of back pay are they setting you up with?” he teased, breaking any remaining tension she felt about telling him. 

She answered some of his questions as they walked, dutifully pulling out her notebook and jotting down all the things he thought about needing to introduce her to-- Thai food, civil rights, and Star Wars* (*movies in general, he amended, but especially these ones) topping the list. 

As they walked into the hazy DC morning, she felt herself relax even further; for the first time since she woke up, she truly began to feel like what SHIELD had explained they were-- the war was over, and they were at peace.


	2. interlude one: fundamental truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first letter.  
> (or: Clarke is more honest with Bellamy than she is with herself, even if he's dead.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> interlude: "an intervening or interruptive period, space, or event" (Merriam-Webster)  
> these will pop up between most chapters, not yet sure if they'll be in between each and every one.  
> letters, straight from the page, as written by captain clarke griffin.  
> typos are intentional.  
> enjoy.

Dear Bell,

~~ I dont really know why I'm doing this. ~~ That’s a lie. (I miss you. It hurts to breathe.)

I just woke up. From the same damn dream. Except it isn’t a dream it’s a memory except it’s not just that either is it? It’s a nightmare and it’s one I lived and it’s the one where you died and I woke up and it had still happened because I guess it wasn’t just a nightmare either.

I don’t want to go through it again we were both there we know what happens  ~~ and you'll never read this anyways because you’re gone and damn you bellamy blake for falling ~~ so instead i’ll tell another story. I hope it’s one youd like. I think you might. 

The story starts like ours, all the way until that fucking godsdamned train in the fucking Alps. remember how Jasper and Wick always called those mountains the pits? The fighting pits, i think it was. I can’t remember why, but it served our purposes-- coded names for destinations, remember? Codes within codes within codes, cause hydra was fuckin everywhere. Two heads, etc, right? (i still remember you telling us about Heracles by firelight, how the flames danced in your eyes and your words when you told us how he beat the hydra-- burning, cauterizing. And then Wick ruining the moment by saying ‘good thing i’m fucking loaded with explosives, huh?’ and we all laughed, but i could see the wistfulness on your face that you guarded so well, that longing for legends. Do you know you are one now? I wonder if you would trade it to have stayed. I guess i’ll never find out. 

That night you were on watch and I couldn't sleep and you showed me heracles in the sky and I fell asleep, back to the tree, head on your shoulder. It was the best sleep I had that whole damn cold fall.)

Anyways. The story is ours til that train. And then it keeps being ours, because when the side blows out and you go with it--

I catch you before the bar breaks. And we hold each other’s forearms, and i pull you back in, and at that point Indra and Ilian have gotten Zola and we’re just waiting til the extraction point and we just sit side by side, or face to face, or forehead to forehead, or maybe I’m so scared of having gotten so close to losing you that I bury my head in your side like when we were kids and you’re so scared of having gotten so close to being lost that you let me. 

And when I kill schmidt and take the Valkyrie I still gotta crash it but it’s your voice on the radio along with Lexa’s and I know I know I can’t leave you both. in a way I could leave her. because she is steel. but you are fools gold you are golden but you are soft except you aren’t but only somethings can hurt you and I think I’m one of them. 

so I chart the course into the fucking ice and then I find a parachute and I tell you where I’m at and that I’ll see you soon and then I jump out the hole in the back and try not to freeze til you reach me. 

And I think it’s Howard that comes and gets me probably though I know youd wanna be there to. Youd be the one pulling me outta that water if you could. Cause remember Alice O’Malley from down the street? She was older than us and watched us once or twice I think. And she told us how her da died on the titanic while her ma was pregnant and they never found his body but she read in a paper that the cold was probably what killed him before the water in his lungs ever could. And if I remember that, you do too. And i remember that winter i was 15 and had hypothermia and you knocked on every door on the block tryna get more blankets for my bed cause we couldn’t afford the heat. When Colonel Titus would tell you you had to wait for me to come back, and not go chasing me down, I wonder if Lexa woulda tied you to a chair or helped you steal ~~another~~ a plane.

Somehow with this damn serum Id be fine, no hypothermia just a little cold that goes away soon. Hell remember that time I got stabbed in the neck? (Of course you do; you were furious at me afterwards just cause I dove in front of Jas. Whatd you expect me to do?) but i was fine after like a day even though Ilian figured it mighta knicked an artary? 

Point is that no cold water could possibly keep me down, not for long. Oh maybe I’d shiver. Maybe I’d still have nightmares of the cold like I sometimes do now. But god, what would I give to wake up from nightmares about cold water and just hop out my window onto the firescape and into yours, where you’d be waiting and safe and  _ alive _ (god, what would I give for you to be alive.) (anything. I think I would give anything.) (In a way I know you would, too. Cause you’d follow me anywhere, right? Isn’t that what you said? That little punk from Brooklyn?) (I think maybe it should scare me, how I’d give anything. And maybe it does, a little. But not much. Cause it’s just a fundamental truth I think. Ave Maria full of grace but I think I’d give the world and then some to have you back. Pray for us sinners, though I can’t say I’m sorry. I should be and I know I should be, dyou think that counts?)

I keep getting off track but then again that’s how we always were, weren’t we? You once joked how you could draw a map of our conversations and it wouldn’t be any different than that one time O scribbled on the wall with one of my colored pencils when she was a kid.

Maybe it’s nostalgia clouding my vision or I’m romanticizing the past but things were so much easier back then.

I mean, they were still hard as hell. I was always one foot outta life with my lungs and everything else and money was tight and sometimes just nonexistent but. But. I had you. And now I don’t. And that’s basically all there is to it, isn’t there?

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I’m crying again I thought maybe if I kept writing it out it wouldn’t hurt so bad but all it did is remind me.

I left half of me in the fucking Alps. 

I miss you. I wish it was the sort of missing you that had an end date.

-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to harmony and essie and court for letting me spam them w ideas and snippets  
> find me on twitter and yell at me for this incredibly angsty letter @trustbeilamy


	3. you must be able to do three things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author is a firm believer that you can have more than one great love in your life, and Clarke meets some Blakes.

Clarke hesitated on the doorstep of the brownstone in Brooklyn and exhaled, counting in her head like Lincoln had told her. It had been a month since she had met the man, her first friend in the twenty-first century, and he had been a godsend so far; helping her re-enter the world, little by little: watching (binge-watching, she reminded herself, was the term) movies (my god, how far technology had come) and television shows (TV, netflix, hulu… the list went on and on and quite frankly hurt her head a little bit) as well as talking her through the technology, politics, discoveries, history and everything else she had missed. Her heart panged everytime she learned something Bellamy would have loved, like how humans had actually landed on the _moon_. But Lincoln was great with that, too; slowly, she was allowing herself to grieve but also to remember fondly. She cried when he mentioned how far gay rights had come, leading to a conversation where she, after an explanation of all the distinctions, decided she was bisexual; he had been interested to see the nautical star tattoo on her inner wrist, and the history behind it— the signal, hidden to normal people and daylight by watches and sleeves, that told women who harbored similar persuasions towards women that this person, too, was like them. 

(She pushed away the memories of Lexa, Lexa, who she could have, might have, still might love. Lexa, who she never got to dance with. Lexa, so cold and intimidating until she let you in and then she was _warmth_ and a light in the darkness and—)

(She pushed away one memory in particular. Her sleeve riding up, her father’s watch sliding down, and revealing her tattoo; Lexa grabbing her arm upon seeing it and pulling Clarke into a quiet back hallway; pulling her sleeve up to reveal her own, identical tattoo; the charged look that followed; the knowledge that Clarke hadn’t been imagining anything, that Lexa might actually—; but the knowledge of what would happen if they were to be caught followed, too.)

(So they were careful, subtle, quiet, around others, but in their tents, they would whisper about after the war, how they would walk through Central Park or Hyde Park or anywhere _green_ and unblemished by blood and death and fear. How they would go dancing— the places Clarke knew of, but rarely went to back home. Places they would be able to dance together without fear of retribution.)

(And now Lexa was 93 years old, and battling Alzheimer’s, and married to a lovely woman named Costia. They seemed very happy, and part of Clarke was glad that Lexa had found happiness after the war ( _after the crash, after you died_ , her mind whispered). But part of her, the part that felt as if it had only been weeks since seeing her, since that kiss in the car while Col. Titus pretended he wasn’t looking, since her voice on the radio commanded Clarke to meet her at the Stork’s Club at 8 o’clock sharp, since she said “You were right, Clarke, life is about more than just surviv-”, since her voice faded into static and the Valkyrie hit the ice— well. That part burst into tears as soon as she cleared the corner, the first time she visited.)

(Not just for what they had lost, but for the look on Lexa’s face, each time she brought herself to visit, as if it were the first. There were moments of clarity, she was told, but so far they hadn’t lined up with her visits.)

(Still. She visited. She couldn’t not. She couldn’t bear to lose someone else so soon.) 

(Which brought her to the doorstep of this brownstone in Brooklyn.)

What was now several weeks after her decades-late awakening, her doctors and handlers had cleared her to leave DC. They were still trying to keep her identity under wraps, which she was more than happy about, because frankly she was unprepared for any level of scrutiny while she adjusted.

She perhaps could’ve pushed to take this trip earlier, but she had been too nervous. O had, of course, been notified that they had found her in the ice; all those years ago, with Bellamy having already shipped out, she had put her as her next of kin. Her heart had panged when she thought about how the then-teenager must have gotten two telegrams ( _With keenest regret I have learned that your brother, Sergeant Bellamy Blake-) (The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regret that your loved one Captain Clarke Griffin has been reported missing in action-)_ , so close together, and she wasn’t sure how O would take her reaching out after all this time. However, when she finally worked up the courage to call, O was nothing but kind, thrilled to speak to her, and told her she had been staying in DC since she got the call, just waiting til Clarke was ready to see her. 

Their reunion had been one of tears and hugs and so many, many stories; in the weeks that followed, they met up frequently. O never pushed her to talk about Bellamy or the war, content to ramble on about her family and her life and the decades Clarke had missed; those days hurt in a different way, reminding Clarke of when O was a young girl and used to complain all about the teachers she didn’t like or the boys she did; all the things she didn’t want to say to her brother in fear that Bellamy would scare away the boys or angrily confront the teachers. 

After a few weeks, O told Clarke she had to go home, back to Brooklyn to take care of her granddaughter but demanded that she visit as soon as possible. Fighting back the fear of going back to a Brooklyn she wouldn’t recognize, she quickly acquiesced; she could only handle so many crises at a time, thank you very much, so she had resolved to pretend she wasn’t in Brooklyn, but some other neighborhood. The inevitable crash that would occur once she let herself process the sight of her home so unknown to her, her history (and _Bellamy,_ her mind protested, shouted, screamed) erased, could wait. She had promised O. 

So now she was here to meet Bellamy’s grandnieces, hand raised to knock but unable to make herself. Just as she contemplated taking a lap around the block, the door flew open to reveal a young woman, about Clarke’s (biological) age, and… looking just like O would have at that age. 

“Oh,” Clarke exhaled, eyes full of surprise and wonder, too; the young woman smirked, not unkindly, and opened the door further. 

“That’s what they call me. Hi,” she said, gesturing for Clarke to enter. “You must be Clarke Griffin. It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Octavia Blake; come on in.”

Clarke jolted into action, stepping in and reaching out to shake her hand, unsure, before Octavia laughed and pulled her into a hug. “Oh, come on. We’re practically family, right?” Clarke felt something inside of her thaw, and she hugged back tightly, giggling slightly. God, when was the last time her heart had felt so light?

Maybe Lincoln was right. Maybe she could just, begin to live again. One step at a time. One breath at a time. 

Clarke was brought out of her musings by Octavia knocking on a door frame that led into a bright, airy living room.

“Grandma? She’s here,” Octavia called into the room, and the quiet murmur of conversation from inside ceased. Clarke could hear a chair scraping back quickly, and stepped into the room to see two figures, though she only had eyes for the older one. 

(She thought of their reunion in her SHIELD-provided apartment, how when her eyes met O’s for the first time in 68 years, the breath left her lungs. 

Clarke had rushed forward, tears pricking her eyes, and hugged the older woman as fiercely as she felt she could, mindful of her age; she need not have worried, though, as O hugged her back with surprising strength. 

“O,” she had whispered into the familiar curls, now light gray instead of the dark she remembered; she pulled back, wiping tears from her eyes and framing Ophelia’s face with her hands to examine her; she knew O was doing the same thing. “I missed you so much,” she laughed, wetly. “And for me, it’s only been a few years. God, I can’t even imagine…” she trailed off, but O had simply shook her head. 

“It’s done now. But you… my god, you haven’t aged a day, have you? Since the day you left.”

Clarke grinned, a long-missing mischievous glint in her eyes beginning to reappear. “I’d say the same to you, but I suspect you’d smack me for sucking up.”

“As I should,” Ophelia replied loftily, and something deep inside Clarke settled back into place seeing glimpses of the girl she remembers inside the woman in front of her.)

“Well, it’s about damn time you showed up,” Ophelia Blake remarked dryly, though she beamed widely, hugging Clarke tightly. 

A muffled giggle from behind Clarke caught her attention and she turned around, hand still on O’s back, to look at the youngest Blakes. Octavia nudged the other girl, a young woman probably about 15 years old, who shared Bellamy’s wild curls and the smirk she thinks all Blakes must have, based on the now five of them she’s met. 

“I’m Madi,” she said, mirth dancing in her bright eyes, and she held her hand out for Clarke to shake. She found herself smiling easily as she shook the younger girl’s hand. 

“Hi, Madi. I’m Clarke,” 

“Well, yeah,” Madi said, and Clarke got the impression that if her grandmother hadn’t been standing three feet away, she might’ve rolled her eyes. Beside her, Ophelia arched an eyebrow-- god, just like her mother used to-- and Madi blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, I sort of can’t believe you’re really here? I mean, you and Uncle Bell are just-- family legends, I guess. Bedtime story kinda thing. It’s like, how could I not know your name?” 

Clarke’s eyes fly to Ophelia, who looks as if she thinks she should be sheepish but isn’t in the least; it’s the same look she’d had as a 5, 8, 10, 13, and now 82 year old. “Bedtime stories?” she asks, a little bit awestruck. Ophelia shrugs.

“Bell told me stories of ancient heroes, you remember?” Clarke nods-- how could she not?-- and O continues. “Well, I figured how better to honor him— and you— than to tell the kids about you two? And they carried on the new tradition.” Clarke blinked away the mist in her eyes before stepping forward and opening her arms to Madi for a hug. 

“Well. Madi. I am very happy to meet you,” Clarke smiles, suddenly feeling a little shy. God, she would’ve loved being here to see Ophelia’s kids grow up— instead she was just now meeting kids of their own. Madi moved forward as if to hug her back but paused, hand moving to trace the tattoo on her wrist. 

“Clarke, AKA Captain America, has tattoos!? You didn’t tell me that, Grammy,” she said accusingly, turning to Ophelia. O raised an eyebrow to Madi. 

“What, and encourage you to get your own? Not yet, young lady. Wait til you’re 18. Besides, it’s just the one, isn’t it? The star? You told me it was for your father.” Clarke shifted. 

“Well… that wasn’t exactly true,” she hedged, wanting to come out but not knowing how O would take it. 

“What!?” Ophelia raised her eyebrows. “‘Fess up, Griffin! What’s it for?” 

“Well, uh,” she glanced at Octavia and Madi, who seemed curious but kind, and back to O, who she knew would love her no matter what. “It was sort of a flag back then. A hidden signal, if you will. If you had one, it meant that you- well, that you were… of a different persuasion.” Her cheeks grew hot. 

“So it means you’re into girls?” Madi asked, and Clarke nodded, a little hesitantly. Madi paused for a moment before cheering and throwing her arms around her. “Fuck yeah, Captain America’s a sapphic!” 

Behind them, Octavia laughed at her cousin’s enthusiasm while O pretended to be scandalized at the language, winking at Clarke over Madi’s shoulder. Clarke laughed, feeling relief rush through her body as her shoulders untensed. 

“I’m not really sure what sapphic means, but if it means I like women, too, then yes,” she laughed, before clarifying. “But yeah, Captain America is a bisexual,” she said, enunciating carefully; still not used to the word rolling off her tongue. Ophelia grabbed her hand and squeezed once Madi let go. 

“Oh, Clarke,” O’s eyes were bright. “I could’ve told you that a long, long time ago,” 

Clarke gaped. “Wait, what? You knew? How!?” 

Ophelia chuckled. “Do you realize how red your cheeks used to get anytime you came back from getting an ice cream cone with Madeline Jones from school? Or that you always forgot to hide your sketchbooks before I came over, and you'd leave sketches of girls' faces just as often as you did the boys’ you liked?” 

Clarke laughed, incredulous and a bit embarrassed. “And it didn’t bother you? Doesn’t?” O just shook her head. 

“I’ve had my share of experiences with the fairer sex,” she winked, and Octavia groaned. 

“I so don’t want to have that image in my head, Grams.” 

Ophelia reached over to pat her hand. “Oh honey, what’s the point of having children and grandchildren if you can’t mortify them every once in a while?” Clarke laughed softly, happy to see Ophelia so happy and domestic. Then, O clapped her hands. “Alright. Clarke, sit. Madi, go get the tray from the kitchen. Tavia, pour some coffee, and don’t forget the sugar and cream on your way.” She ordered, and the younger two complied, chatting quietly as they left the room. Ophelia’s eyes softened as she looked over to Clarke, who was taking in the pictures on the walls and had landed on one of the two of them and Bellamy, years before the war had even begun.

“Welcome home, Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello!!! welcome to chapter three that's really more of a chapter two because of the interlude but OH WELL. sorry for the unintentionally long hiatus, life has been crazy but i'm hoping i'll be able to update more frequently from here on out!!!!  
> I hope you enjoyed!!  
> as always, I'd love to hear from you in the comments, on twitter @trustbeilamy, or on tumblr @agentsofoakenshiield.  
> all my love!!  
> xx, Lai


	4. interlude two: even as a shadow, even as a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time passes  
> (or: clarke begins to heal, with the help of Blakes, even if they aren’t the ones she’d prefer, and finds closure & pain alike in learning the fates of those she knew and loved.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay the following list is Intimidating but I promise this chapter isn't insanely depressing (at least I don't think so? I'd say it's pretty tonally consistent with the chapters that have been posted so far.) It's a return to the letters, and Clarke's been busy filling in what she missed during her time in the ice.  
> trigger/content warning in this chapter for grief/mourning, mention of suicide, mentions of death, references to prisoners of war & associated torture/maltreatment, heart attack, heart conditions/injuries, PTSD, nightmares, vague childhood illness, the Great Depression, terrorists, referenced car crash, referenced cancer, referenced alcoholism, strong language, intentional typos, fucking about with both canons re:family trees & ages.  
> WHOO. it's a List but ***please let me know if I missed anything or if you'd like more information.***  
> see the end of the chapter for t100 <\---> Marvel characters if you're interested!!

Dear Bell, 

I told Lincoln about that letter I wrote you. I said I would burn it. Was going to, had the lighter and all, but I just… couldn’t. It felt like I’d be burning a little bit more of you away, too, if I did. So now it’s behind one of the loose floorboards in my bedroom. But he suggested I write more letters. He even got me this notebook, too, a Captain America one. A nice one, dark blue leather with the shield embossed, bright red and blue and that star. That star will outlive our memories, I think. Sometimes I wonder how much of me is Captain America and how much is Clarke Griffin. I wonder if people see my face or the star in the shield. And I think I know that long after they’ve forgotten the name Clarke Griffin and the story of the Howling Commandos and Agent Lexa Woods and Sergeant Bellamy Blake— they’ll remember the title. The comics. The propaganda. 

The shield. 

I mean, there are worse ways to be remembered. Or, unremembered, I guess. 

I don’t know. The best thing about the 21st century— besides the civil rights and pride parades and technology and medicine and food and relative peace and all— the best thing for me at the moment anyways— is that here, I’m not captain America or captain clarke griffin or even Clarke Griffin. I’m just clarke. Whoever I want that to be. 

And I have time to figure that out now. Hell, I have nothing but time. 

This clarke likes drawing, again, but also likes playing board games like clue and sorry with O and Tavia and Madi. And teaching Madi poker. (Not sure why O didn’t but. She knows now! You wouldn’t guess, but she’s kinda a shark. I love this girl, Bell.) She likes history documentaries that aren’t about the war & reading magazines and fiction and nonfiction and kind of everything. She loves spending hours wandering museums and hours perusing library shelves. She’s figuring out how to use a cell phone, and a laptop computer, and Tavia mentioned getting her a kindle, whatever that is, and she’s excited about that too. 

This Clarke has decades of backpay. And took the girls on a shopping spree, all the things I never could’ve dreamed of back then. 

This Clarke dyed the tips of her hair pink. PINK! 

This Clarke is thinking of introducing Lincoln and Octavia— I think they’d get along well. And you’re not here to tell me not to set up your grandniece so that’s on you. 

This Clarke wakes up from nightmares a lot, but she’s learning how to deal with them. And the shell shock. Lincoln says it’s called PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. Apparently, I check a lot of those boxes. I could think of a lot of people from back then who do. 

This Clarke splits her time between New York City— Manhattan; Brooklyn still hurts too much to live there, though I visit often enough— and DC, and likes watching out the windows of the train going back and forth. 

This Clarke is thinking about getting her GED, graduating high school. Better late than never, right? I always loved school but missed more than I went with being stuck in bed so much. I wish you could’ve. One of us’d deserve it at least. More you than me. 

This Clarke is fun and happy and sad and creative and lonely and loving and isn’t perfect. But she’s so alive. And I think I kinda like her. 

Anyways. Lincoln said i didn’t have to address the letters to you, or anyone for that matter, or i could do one for everyone I don’t have anymore, or scream at the universe, or even just use it like a journal. But. 

But. 

Who else would I write to? 

Yknow, you were always the one for speeches. Sometimes I think I might give up a whole damn lot just to hear one again. Just to see you again. Just to hug you, see your face, fall asleep counting your freckles like when we were kids. Like that summer I was so sick I couldn't even sit up and the light hurt my eyes so we kept the curtains drawn and you would just sit next to me and I would count your freckles like sheep or stars or clouds. I remember you would cry when you thought I was sleeping sometimes. When you thought I might not wake up. (was this how it felt, bellamy? How did you survive even a fraction of this? How do i?) But I did wake up. And the sickness went away even if the asthma didn’t (at least until it did). And we never really talked much about it but i think that was the first time you really thought i might die. I saw something in your eyes when you looked at me and thought I didn't notice. Like you were trying to memorize my face. Did you ever notice when I did the same thing?

Can you tell I miss you? Cause I do. So much it hurts. 

Remember all those nights we spent, the ones where we either weren’t behind enemy lines or if we were we weren’t  _ too _ worried about noise? So we’d sit out by the fire (when we had one) and tell stories. And Diyoza’d grumble, but even she’d share too. But everyone loved it the most when you told stories. Because you didn’t talk about Brooklyn-- you left those stories for me, though you never hesitated to interject-- but you talked about the stars. God, Bellamy, how’d you remember all of them so well?

There’s Orion's belt, you’d say. Where’s the rest of em?, Jasper would heckle, and we’d all laugh but we all got real quiet when you started again. And you told us all about the stories in the skies, all the heroes and gods and fate. Fate and I have a bit of a strange relationship, I think. 

I dont think I was suposed to live as long as I have. And i dont mean the 66 years in the ice i mean the 27 before that, not the war even and the battles but. Before. Before the serum back in brooklyn when i was a twig and couldn’t breathe right and couldn’t not fight if fighting meant the bullies weren’t beating up on someone else. Someone who couldnt take it or someone who didnt have someone like you. Cause I always had you bell. I knew that from the get go. 

And you could always dress the words up so nice too. Oh youd be mad as hell and grumble all damn day after i got my knuckles bloody (okay yes and my nose and maybe my cheekbone and knees and OKAY I GET IT) (i can hear your voice now. Not in a creepy way but we have so many memories and they bleed through from time to time) but on those days we’d sit on the edge of the docks at sunset and I would just tell you I had to cause i did. And you’d sit and just think because oh you had a hot head too but when it came to us or you and O or your mom or the people you love you would always think it through and your so smart bellamy, always were. But i remember you looked over at me and i think my breath mustve caught in my throat cause when the sun hit your face you didnt look like a kid from brooklyn you looked like something in a museum we couldnt afford and i wanted so badly to draw you (i tried later but I couldnt get it right no matter how hard i tried and then i ran down my yellow and orange pencils trying) and you said “you bear it so they don’t have to” and i swear to god bellamy blake no one has ever seen me as much as you did right then and I dont think they ever will. And I think I maybe saw you too. Not always cause you tried your damndest to hide it sometimes but. 

I remember when you had to drop out of school because Mrs. O’Reilly upstairs died so your mom lost half her business right there and she needed you to get a job and she hated asking but you said yes, of course, because O needed a coat and new shoes and theres nothing you wouldn’t do for that girl. And you made it seem easy. But when your mom and O fell asleep you climbed over the fire escape and I already had my window open cause I  _ knew  _ and you cried so much I thought you might fill the east river and the hudson too. Because you were so smart but you always had such a big  _ heart _ Bellamy. And you bore it so they didn’t have to. 

We always were alike that way.

I climb to the roof of my building at night and I pretend I can see the stars but you can’t anymore Bell. Not here. I bet in the fields in europe you still can. God, that night sky and you might be the only things I miss. Mostly you. But I pretend I can see the stars, and I know you’re in them. Where else would you be? You and your freckles, you were meant for the stars. 

I miss you. So  **damn much** . 

New York isn’t right without you. Brooklyn isn’t. 

I miss you.

~~Love~~ ~~Princess~~ ~~Yours~~ CG

* * *

Dear bell 

I just got back from lunch with madi and octavia. You’d love them. I already do. 

Theyre a little peace of you and O even though O’s not gone. Yknow they call octavia O too? Cause Ophelia’s Grammy. Can you believe that? Little O who used to sleep in the drawer owns (owns, bell!) a brooklyn brownstone. 

So both are O, but Octavia’s also Tavia. And it’s too strange for me to call her O. Not when our O is right there. So she’s Tavia. 

I wondered how they did after we, well, died, but I guess since we both had her and your mom as next of kin she got set up alright by our pay. And some people sent her money when they heard about us or saw the reels or something. Isn’t that great? I know you hated charity but you always loved your sister more than anything, including your pride. So there, bellamy blake. 

Seeing octavia hurts me a little bit because she’s the spitting mirror image of her Grammy. She’s a window into Ophelia after we were gone-- the way we’ll never have seen her besides pictures. 

Seeing her for the first time opening up that bright blue door in Brooklyn with her angled jaw and her cheekbones and her eyes and her eyebrows and just. She could be a talkies star from when we were kids. She’s gorgeous. 

And seeing her for the first time I actually wanted to draw again. 

I haven’t in so long. 

It’s always those damn Blakes, isn’t it?

That get to me. They worm their way right under my skin so goddamn easy. How dyou do it? 

CG

* * *

Dear Bell, 

I really do think you would love Octavia. And Madi, but really, you and Octavia, you’d love each other. She’s just like her grandmother; feisty and beautiful and sharp and stubborn as hell. She’s a fighter, Bell. We may not technically be related, but I think she’s got a little bit of me in her, somehow. 

And talking to her is just… fun. It’s nice to have someone who knows about my- everything, but doesn’t make a big deal. SHIELD is different, even with Hope who I like, because I’m not clarke, never just clarke. Which I get. But it’s hard not to feel a little bit dehumanized when it seems I’m a (potential) asset above all else. 

Director Jaha said he wants me to think about joining up. If not as a SHIELD agent— and regardless of whether or not they saved me from the ice, I’m still not sure I can trust them— then as a— how did he put it? Partner. Consultant. 

Which means they don’t own me, but I can get back out there. Do some good. 

I don’t know, Bellamy. It’s tempting. He said there’s something called the Avengers Initiative he wants to talk some more to me about— a specialized team. And guess who’d be on it? 

HOWARD’S GRANDDAUGHTER. Yep!! 

Her name’s Raven Reyes, even though the public knows her as Raven Stark, and she’s around  our my age (biologically, anyways). She’s some sort of supergenius. She got kidnapped a few years back by some terrorists and built herself a metal suit to escape, all with a car battery hooked up in her chest to keep shrapnel out of it. 

(That would’ve been helpful back in the war, huh? 

Indra’s file says that’s how she got taken out. Shrapnel from a shell, got her in the chest. 

It was the day they announced the ceasefire. Just hours before. How’s that for shit timing?)

Howard had a son, Tony, who had a kid named Raven and didn’t want her to grow up like he had. So he hid her and her mom away, and paid for everything, and they stayed there til Tony and his mom died in a crash. Howard needed an heir, then. (Howard… changed after the war, from everything I could find. He wasn’t the same warm and cocky and a little bit kooky inventor. He got colder. Meaner. Or so it seems. Is it bad if I still wish he were here?; I miss him— the one we knew. I miss all of them.) (but none so much as  you .) And he trained her, til he passed away a few years back too. Heart attack. Right before she got taken. 

The press called her Iron Man, and she refused to let them change it once she told the world it was her. 

I haven’t met her yet; all this is from SHIELD’s files. But I kinda love her already. 

I’ve been pulling everyones’ files. It’s like meeting Tavia and Madi made it a little bit easier to find out what happened to everyone I’ve ever known; I don’t feel quite so alone.

Oh, and speaking of: Tavia and Madi! So, O had twins, August and Aurora Jr-- AJ. She and your mom moved neighborhoods and told everyone their dad died in the war, and she wanted to keep her name, and she raised them herself. I heard they were fantastic. August married a woman named Caroline, and they had Madi; August died when Madi was young in a car crash; Caroline died a decade later from cancer, and O adopted Madi, too. AJ apparently was a piece of work when she got older; got mixed up with a bad group. Became alcoholic and not the best mother, to put it mildly, according to Octavia, so she’s alive and comes around sometimes but isn’t really in the picture. O practically raised her, too.

Your sister’s a badass, you know that?

Who am I kidding. Of course you do.

Anyways. Who else?

Jeanette Indra’s granddaughter is named Gaia, and works for SHIELD, but her file is locked down so tight I don’t even know what she looks like. Diyoza’s great niece is also SHIELD, and she works closely with Jaha. Hope’s got whatever was in Diyoza that made her such a badass. The next gen is doin just fine, Bell.

I haven’t gotten to know Hope very well, but I really like her. 

Diyoza’s still kicking, fierce as ever. She lives in California, so I haven’t seen her much, but we’ve talked sometimes.

Jasper… Jasper killed himself after the war ended. His sweetheart, Maya, that nurse? Remember? She was killed around when you were, but they weren’t married yet so he didn’t find out for months afterward. 

Sometimes i wonder if it’s my fault he grew up so fast. I mean, he was so young, innocent, when we brought him into the Howlies. I know I’m probably not seeing things clearly and that hell, I met him as a POW who had seen his fair share of death and trauma at just 19, but. Still. 

I wonder what I could’ve done. 

Ilian went MIA in the 50s, some secret op in Korea. They never found him. 

Wick died just a year or two ago, old age. Peaceful, apparently. His wife had died the year before; they didn’t have any kids, just dogs. Just like he used to say. 

And Miller… 

Miller. I’m still working on tracking him down. I guess he changed his name, went off the grid. I think Lexa helped him, though everytime I’ve seen her, she hasn’t been herself enough to tell me how to find him. Costia doesn’t know. 

(I’d like to think he’s still alive out there. But I have no fuckin idea. Ain’t that swell?

I miss him a whole fucking lot too.)

And that’s the sum total of people I have left in the world. 

I’ve spent a lot of nights crying over those files. Yours too. Have I mentioned lately that I miss you? Hah. I miss you every time I breathe. 

Oh, shit. I forgot. Your mom. Bellamy, i miss her. 

So much. 

She died in the early 60s, something with her heart. I haven’t looked much into it. Havent been able to stand to. You know she was like a second mother to me too, even more so after mine died. 

God. fucking blakes up and dying on me. 

Not sure how much more I can lose without losing myself, too. Not sure if i haven’t already.

Not sure why I write these like youre going to read them and respond.

Not sure why I can’t stop. 

Only thing I know for sure is I miss you. So much. More than I can take, I think. 

I found an old Greek writer, Euripides. And a line that made me think of you, what with your classics and myths.

Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.

Come back, Bellamy. 

Come back. 

Patiently waiting. Desperately hoping. Irrationally. But here i am.,

Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Marvel Characters and their t100verse counterparts in this fic!*  
> (I took a few liberties with character names, mostly with the grounders)  
> Captain America/Steve Rogers = Clarke Griffin  
> Bucky Barnes = Bellamy Blake  
> Sam Wilson = Lincoln Boyce  
> Peggy Carter = Lexa Woods  
> Maria Hill = Hope Diyoza   
> Nick Fury = Thelonious Jaha  
> Iron Man/Tony Stark= Raven Reyes Stark (in this fic, Tony's daughter; Tony takes the place of his father in the Dec '91 accident killing him and his mother)  
> Howling Commandos = Jeanette Indra, Charmaine Diyoza, Kyle Wick, Jasper Jordan, Nathan Miller, Ilian Brooks  
> Hope that clears up any potential confusion!  
> As always, thank you for reading!! You can find me on tumblr agentsofoakenshiield or twitter @trustbeilamy  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter! Or if you didn't! Or if you just want to say hi!! idk i just really love comments :')  
> xLai

**Author's Note:**

> well, welcome to another au! this came from all the void!bellamy on the tl and my brain asking 'well, what about winter soldier!bellamy?' and then realizing before we got to ca:tws, clarke had a whole lot of living and grieving and adjusting to do. so, welcome to the ride!  
> title / chapter title is from mary oliver's poem 'in blackwater woods'. series title is part of a larger phrase, to be completed by the title of part two (which covers ca:tws and the aftermath.)  
> to clarify, this series will end up with bellarke together and happy. it's going to be a long road til then. clarke **does not find out bellamy is alive until part two of this series.** it won't all be angst and mourning, but bellamy is more of an unseen presence in this installment. if you have any questions, feel free to let me know!!  
> as always, you can find me on twitter @trustbeilamy.  
> thank you SO much for reading!!!  
> [rumor has it if you leave a comment i'll love you forever, wanna find out if it's true? ;)]  
> xoxo, lai


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